


When It Rains

by femmenoire



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmenoire/pseuds/femmenoire
Summary: Maria and Carol remember each other.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	When It Rains

_You don’t remember anything?_

_I see flashes, little moments, but I can’t tell what’s real._

Maria loved the rain.

It soothed her.

It made all the wandering pieces in her soul scurry home for safety.

Carol was her home.

***

It rained all day and into the night.

Maria’s father was at the pool hall. He should have been back by now because he couldn’t see so well in the night anymore. She wanted to go to bed, but she couldn’t rest until he was back. Sometimes she waited up for him, laid in bed until she heard the screen door slam against the frame and his loud, groaned “shit,” and then she’d fall asleep knowing that he was safe.

But sometimes her brain wouldn’t let her wait. Tonight was one of those nights.

She pulled a pair of jeans from the top of her dirty clothes hamper onto her body, locked the front door and shoved herself angrily into the old pickup truck that had been her baby since middle school since she started fixing it up under her father’s watchful eye.

The drive into town was fast as ever. No traffic. No stray cows from the Le Blanc farm. No car crash off Old Man’s Pass.

She made it to The Lucky Shot in half an hour. She could hear the music from that old juke box clear as day long before she parked her car.

She took a moment to breathe and pray before she walked inside. Her daddy was easy to spot.

He was at his favorite table – the same table where he’s been racking his balls since he was a teenager. The table where he met her mother.

“Daddy,” she said.

Not loud enough. She knew it wasn’t, but she wanted to preserve his dignity. Or maybe she wanted to preserve her own. Either way, he didn’t leave her that choice. Didn’t leave either of them the safety of anonymity.

“Daddy,” she said, much louder now.

He turned to her with bright, slightly wet eyes. “Cher! This my daughter, here,” he said to the woman next to him. "She gon' be a pilot one of these days."

Maria’s eyes shifted angrily to the woman her father was talking to. She was prepared to be angry, annoyed, frustrated; everything but overwhelmed.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Sardonic grin. “Nice to meet you,” the woman said, “I’m Carol.”

***

Metallic.

“You know you don’t have to fight every man who calls you darlin’ right?” Maria asked.

“That’s what you keep telling me,” Carol said, wincing as Maria presses the cotton swab of alcoholic over Carol’s raw knuckles.

“But to be clear, this one called you darlin’.”

“And did I punch him?”

“You didn’t have to. I was there to do it for you.”

Maria shook her head and scoffed. Frustrated. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t need to ask,” Carol said. “Ever.”

Maria’s hands stilled, the Band-Aid in her hand hovering over Carol’s knuckles.

She looked up at her best friend, the only other woman in their cadet class. Her best friend. “Ever?”

Carol blinked. Smiled. “Ever.”

***

“Do you want water or.. water?” Carol asked.

She was bent forward, inspecting the ancient refrigerator as if it was full of food instead of just the basics; only the things Maria could keep down this week.

“Water?” Maria replied.

Carol stood with a pitcher of water in one hand and a beer for herself in the other. Maria frowned so hard her cheeks hurt.

“What the hell is that?”

“I found a beer,” Carol exclaimed.

“And what in the hell am I going to do with a beer?” Maria asked, trying to rein in the force of her emotions. It was the hormones.

“I’ll drink this for you. ‘Kay?”

Maria rolled her eyes and turned her head to look away. She wanted to be angry but at whom?

Having this baby was her decision. She could have had an abortion. Carol had even shown up at her apartment with a handful of brochures and a card from a friend of a friend who knew a doctor in Baton Rouge. They’d sat in the center of Maria’s bed making a list of pros and cons about having a baby. In the end the list of cons was a foot long but the only one that really mattered was that she was alone. Her daddy was dead. Her mama was long gone. It was just her. She couldn’t raise this baby all by herself.

Carol nodded sagely and the grabbed the pad of paper from Maria’s hand. She crossed the word “Alone” from Maria’s list and smiled. “You got me. Me. You. And the little bean,” she’d said, pressing her palm against Maria’s stomach. “If you want to do this, we’ll do it together.”

Maria’s eyes had filled with tears. She wasn’t alone.

“Looks like we’re having a baby!” Carol had exclaimed before tackling Maria in a hug that pushed her onto her back. She gasped and pulled away. “Oh no, shit. I’m sorry,” she’d and then moved down Maria’s body to whisper against Maria’s still flat stomach. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to jostle you. Won’t happen again.”

***

They say the third trimester is the worst.

Maria thought that was full of shit because her third trimester had been amazing. Mostly because of Carol.

They’d had a great day.

Carol had put Monica’s crib together while Maria had watched. Read the instructions.

Maria made sweet tea. Carol watched.

They made dinner together.

It was a perfect day.

But now Maria was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. The sun had long since set. The air was finally cool enough to open the windows and let the breeze soother her warm skin. She eased herself onto the bed, laying her body on top of her cool sheets. She had to lay on her side but at just the right angle to relieve the stress of her big belly without aggravating her daughter.

Her feet and back ached so bad she wanted to cry.

“Knock knock,” Carol said.

“Go away. I’m tired.”

“Rude.”

“Everything hurts,” Maria whined.

“I know, that’s why I’m here. With oils.”

Maria cracked one eye open and peered at the door to her bedroom. “Oils?”

She could hear Carol’s grin in her voice. “I might have picked up that shea-lavender blend you like.”

Maria groaned.

“Is that an invitation?”

“God, yes,” Maria said. “My feet.”

“I know, I know. Your feet. Your calves. Your back. Your everything,” she said with a smile.

“It’s not funny,” Maria whined.

“It is, a little,” Carol said.

Maria wanted to whine, but as soon as Carol’s hands wrapped around her ankles she couldn’t do anything but groan some more.

“This is a very expensive massage,” Carol said. She always said that. “The U.S. Air Force sank a lot of money into me.”

“They sank as much into my hands as yours and you didn’t see me charging you for dinner,” Maria sighed. “My arch…”

“I know,” Carol said, balling her hand right hand into a fist to press firmly into Maria’s arch. Maria’s groan sounded like a moan. “That alright?” Carol asked, softly.

“Higher?” Carol’s hands moved to Maria’s right calf. She pressed and smoothed and pressed, gently caressing Maria’s muscles. “That’s good,” Maria breathed.

Carol moved to her other calf, repeating the motions.

The sound of the rain hitting the tin roof didn’t startle them. By now they were as used to that sound as the sight of the sun in the sky and Maria was as used to Carol’s hands soothing her aching muscles as she’d ever been to her daughter’s father’s hands on her. Maybe even more so.

“That good?”

Maria nodded but didn’t speak. She was too tired for words. Carol’s hands moved to her thighs. “That okay?” Maria groaned. Nodded. Sighed. “How was the beer?” Maria finally said. “Old. Not bad.” “I’m jealous.” “You should be.” “Higher,” Maria said. Carol’s hands pushed Maria’s nightgown a little further up her legs. She focused her energy on Maria’s left leg, one hand at the front, the other at the back. The cool breeze hit the top of Maria’s thighs and she shivered excitedly. She pulled her nightgown up higher, exposing the circumference of her stomach. Carol’s oiled hand followed, rubbing along the skin lovingly.

“Can’t believe she’s almost here,” Carol breathed.

“I can,” Maria said. “I think.”

“You scared?”

“Very.”

The baby kicked. Carol gasped. “Oh my god.”

“You’ve felt it before,” Maria laughed.

Carol didn’t respond, but Maria knew what she was thinking. It didn’t matter how many time she felt Monica kick, it was like the first time each time. Shock. Excitement. Fear. Love. Happiness. All rolled up into a single moment of her daughter’s tiny, fragile body inside her making sure they knew she was here.

She kicked again.

Maria grabbed Carol’s hand and moved it low on her belly. “She’s punching too.”

“That’s my girl,” Carol breathed, her breath hitching as Monica’s tiny fist pressed sharply against Maria’s insides.

“Our girl,” Maria corrected.

Carol’s fingers pressed against Maria’s skin for a moment as her fingers pressed. “Our girl.”

Maria thought her voice sounded different, but she wasn’t sure if that was just exhaustion or expectation. It was probably the latter. Maria had been waiting for the impossible for longer than she could remember.

“Higher?” Carol asked.

Maria’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Lower?” she said in a drowsy voice. She could use her exhaustion as plausible deniability. It would be a lie, but she could do it if she needed to.

She didn’t.

Carol’s hand moved slowly down the curve of Maria’s stomach, tentative, soft, nervous. They both gasped when Carol’s fingers touched the soft curls over her mound.

“That okay?” Carol asked. Her voice was definitely different now. Deeper. Huskier.

“Yes,” Maria breathed. “Lower.” It wasn’t a question this time.

Her fingers pressed cautiously through her hair. The room was quiet, their panting breaths were not.

The tip of Carol’s index finger touch her hooded clit. Maria gasped and sucked in a labored breath.

“I can stop.”

“No,” Maria moaned. “Please.”

There was a moment of silence. Maria’s entire body was hot. Her nightgown was sticking to her body. Carol was completely still. Until she wasn’t.

She moved quickly up the bed, pressing her body along Maria’s back. It was too hot for this, but it felt right. Maria could feel Carol’s bare legs brushing against hers, and her right arm wedging between Maria’s body and the bed.

Maria moaned again as Carol’s right hand brushed against her breast. Accidentally at first and then on purpose. Maria’s moan was part whimper, part growl. “Please,” she breathed again.

“Shhhh,” Carol said, her lips brushing the shell of Maria’s ear. “You don’t have to ask,” she said as the fingers of one hand began to slowly circle her nipple and the fingers of her other pushed between Maria’s legs.

“Ever?” Maria moaned.

“Ever,” Carol echoed as she pressed two fingers inside Maria’s wet pussy.

***

_You don’t remember anything?_

_I see flashes, little moments, but I can’t tell what’s real._

“Maria,” Carol gasped, waking into full consciousness.

Maria was real.

Monica was real.

She had a family.

She reminded herself of this every day, no matter how many lightyears stood in her way.


End file.
